ÄòSailing and SeamanshipÄô by Eric Howells

I received a copy of this book as a school prize not long after it was published in 1961; it became my constant reading, and a great help in passing my Falcon skipperÄôs badge under the severe eye of Jim Hayes, in particular with the art of splicing, which I still enjoy doing with mooring lines even now. Its title encompasses the world I have enjoyed living in since the time I started sailing.My first failure of seamanship had occurred some time before I received the book, at the very beginning of my career; sitting in the Falcon we had borrowed, I was handed a line by my father with instructions not to let go of it, though without him explaining why not. We were beginning our sailing adventure, and he was therefore Äòlearning by doingÄô - it never occurred to us that he himself also knew nothing of the noble art at that moment.I sat there dreaming of future maritime exploits while he muttered to himself as he laced the mainsail to the boom, etc, etc, and after a while I realised that I no longer had a rope in my hand. Grabbing the nearest rope, which I assumed was the same one, I continued to sit there, till he asked me for the rope, which I duly held up. It was only then, and somewhat intemperately, he pointed out that he had given me the dinghy painter to hold, and that the dinghy was now making its way down the harbour among the mooringsĶI have made mistakes aplenty since then, resulting in groundings and even a beaching, not to mention a close shave with a Chinese freighter at night in the Western Channel, all of which catalogue of errors has become a fund of stories to share over a beer, rather than forming part of my obituary! I like to think my seamanship has improved since that first failing, but itÄôs still a term which defies full definition.Some of the worst seamanship I had occasion to witness in my youth was that of a naval lieutenant entrusted with the task of taking us, a group of CCF cadets from HardyeÄôs, out for the day on the Solent on the magnificent 60ft gaff cutter ÄòLilly MaidÄô, by far the biggest and most beautiful yacht I had ever sailed on, with more varnish-work than the entire WSC Falcon fleet (which at that time, in the mid-1960s, was considerable).Not perhaps the most glamorous posting for him, no doubt, but he had a considerable responsibility towards the boat and for the safety of its temporary crew. This did not prevent him from entertaining our teacher/officer to gin and tonic while at anchor at lunchtime (it was a different world!), but, perhaps fuelled by this, to then demonstrate how a Seagull outboard worked, which was handily attached to the pushpit - doubtless many members will be familiar with this wonderful little engine. The school sailing club owned one, so I knew how it worked, and was interested to watch him wind the cord round the drum and pull it Äì upon which the engine burst into life with a roar. Since this was a water-cooled engine, whose exhaust was usually under water, the roar reached a rapid climax in a loud bang, as a flame a couple of feet long shot out of the exhaust, fortunately not reaching any of us. The subsequent silence amongst our group was caused in equal measure by awe and fear, I think, though the sail back to Portsmouth harbour was straightforward enough in the sunshine, with a rising sea breeze and with the flood tide. As we entered the harbour still running under main, our captain appointed me to man the boathook, a huge wooden pole taller than I was with a ferocious hook on the end, with which I was supposed to pick up the mooring line to which the wooden tender was attached. My book on sailing and seamanship (p.113) had taught me that he would obviously round up head to wind and tide in order to do this; to my horror he continued to head straight for the tender until he rammed it amidships, catching it neatly under the bobstay and carrying it forward until the mooring line finally brought our 35 tonnes to a standstill, like an arrester wire - the Cloudsley-Shovell gambit, one might have called it.I knew even less about seamanship then than I do now, but I knew that I could make no positive difference to this disaster by risking my life leaning over the bow with this small tree of a boathook likely to take me with it if I managed to hook the mooring. Fortunately a rating grabbed the boathook, which I was only too happy to surrender to him, and, as the boat swung round head to wind, managed to get a line aboard and we were safely moored, though the tender needed serious attention with a baler before we were able to escape ! That rating, I realised, showed a resourcefulness lacking in his superior officer, which probably saved him from the embarrassment of going aground or otherwise damaging this beautiful boat.We all make mistakes, most of which mercifully have little consequence; seamanship according to the editor of ÄòSailing and SeamanshipÄô is Äòall about the sea, all about the man and all about the shipÄô - in these more enlightened days, we might usefully add that itÄôs also Äòall about the team, the crewÄô, as this more recent quote from ÄòThe Maritime ExecutiveÄô suggests:ÄòGood seamanship commands that each one of the mariners serving onboard a vessel should have strong self-initiatives and moreover have set their personal high professional standards. Crew bonding and participation is of paramount importance for morale boosting purposes.ÄôOn a racing boat, as in a volunteer organisation, this last component of seamanship is perhaps the most fundamental. Gaps in our own seamanship should be our primary concern; as the good Lord (whose seamanship included skills we would be hard put to to emulate!) put it: Äòfirst cast out the beam out of thine own eye'. We just go on learning, together - from the wind, from the sea but most of all from each other...Steve Fraser

Last updated 17:39 on 4 November 2024